


The Kids Aren't Alright

by wearethefoxes



Series: the game is not played alone [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Derek Hale, Bullying, Derek Being an Idiot, Derek Feels, Derek Has Issues, First Kiss, Hale Family Feels, Homophobia, M/M, Minor Injuries, Miscommunication, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, SERIOUSLY THOUGH THE ANGST, Warning: Kate Argent, the end is all schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:17:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4776728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethefoxes/pseuds/wearethefoxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4775960">Got My Heavy Heart To Hold Me Down</a>, Derek struggles to keep his injuries hidden, and who to trust with his secret.</p><p>Or, angst and Derek feels with an eventual happy sterek ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. every picture you paint, i will paint myself out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically I'm not late because I said 1-2 weeks sooo. 
> 
> Work title is a song by Fall Out Boy, chapter title is a lyric from the song "The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot" by Brand New.
> 
> I'M THE WORST AT SUMMARIES LIKE OH MY GOD. Also this work is in a series, and you're going to be VERY confused if you don't read the other parts first.
> 
> Warnings: I mean, basically the same ones for Part Four. Derek doesn't get _re_ beat up, but he deals with it, and Kate and what she said is referenced a lot. Also a lot of victim blaming and self-esteem issues and shit, so idk if that needs it's own warning but it happens. 
> 
> I'm sorry.

 

They leave him gasping and bleeding in the alley. He curls into the fetal position and listens to them drive away, listens to the hitching of his own breath. It’s dark now. Derek thinks, _Erica will be closing soon_. Thinks, _I missed the party._ Thinks, _holy fuck I hurt_ and decides to lay there for a while longer, laying and breathing and lit orange by the street lamps.

It takes Derek ages to peel himself off the concrete, though he’s no stranger to the process. He rolls from his back to his side, bracing himself on his forearm and hissing between his teeth. The ache is too general for the moment to be able to tell specifically where the worst of the damage is, but there’s blood in his mouth and blinking into his eyelashes, and his ribs groan a little when he breathes. It’s quicker after that to get onto his hands and knees  - breathing breathing breathing through the ache because _holy fuck_ \- and then again a moment later, using the wall to push himself to standing, his arm wrapped around his middle and his head tipped back against the wall while the dizziness fades.

They took his money, but not his phone, thankfully. Derek grits his teeth as he digs it out of his back pocket, aching everywhere. His eyes are swelling a little  - his eyes? or his nose? or his cheekbones? he can’t tell - but he can tell he has about a million messages, mostly from Laura and Stiles, even a few from Erica and even Isaac, who he didn’t realize still had his number. A few missed calls, even. Groaning, he shoves his phone back into his pocket, not bothering to read any of them. He casts his eyes to the street, squinting, and there is his car, thankfully unharmed. He pulls his keys from his front pocket - even his fingers hurt, goddamn - and begins walking to his car. Derek discovers he’s limping, and it takes forever, and he swears the whole way, but he makes it and collapses into the front seat.

After a while, it occurs to him to wonder if he’s even safe drive, with how his eyes are swelling, but he’s not about to call Laura. Derek takes a few breaths, and drives.

 

The only light is in the living room when Derek walks inside. He can see Talia, sitting on the couch and drinking a glass of wine, and he pauses on his way in. He knows she already heard him, but holy shit, if she were to _see_ him - it’d be shit. He throws his keys on the counter and moves to the freezer, pulling out all of the frozen peas and corn he can carry, and begins to move towards the stairs. He doesn’t say anything, hoping she won’t either.

Because he has no luck, Derek has just stepped onto the first stair and is trying desperately not to whimper when she asks from the couch, “How was the party?”

Derek takes a moment to catch his breath. “I didn’t go.” He mostly sounds normal, he thinks, though it hurts like hell to talk around his lip. “I chickened out.”

“Parties still aren’t your thing?” Talia asks. He wishes suddenly that he wasn’t beat to shit, because she sounds relaxed and fond right now, and he’d like it more than anything to be able to talk to her again, the way he did all through middle school, up to his freshman year.

His throat closed, he says, “Not so much.” She doesn’t say anything else. Derek waits for her to, because even though he hurts he misses her, and he doesn’t want this moment to end. She doesn’t though, so he says, “Night, Mom.”

She makes a noise at him in confirmation, gesturing him up the stairs. He feels strangely disappointed as he mounts the stairs.

 

Laura and Cora get home when he’s in the bathroom, stripped down to his boxers and rubbing vinegar onto his bruises with a warm washcloth. The pressure he’s applying isn’t gentle, and he’s hissing breaths out through his teeth when there’s a slamming door from downstairs and Laura’s distinct stomping feet on the stairs. Distantly, Derek hears Talia say, sounding kind of startled, “What is that all about?” The response - if there is one - gets blocked out when Laura pounds her fist on Derek’s bedroom door.

“What the fuck, Derek!” she yells, and he winces bodily, pausing in his ministrations. He doesn’t say anything. “You left him alone!” He closes his eyes. She pounds on his door again, rattling the frame in his bedroom. He flinches, and then hisses in pain. “Fuck you!” She stomps down to her room and then slams the door. Talia is yelling downstairs, something about language and _what the hell is going on?_

He stays, frozen in the bathroom, and he startles when he hears Cora on the stairs. She’s slower than Laura, a trudge not a stampede. She pauses outside his bedroom door, and her voice is soft when she asks, “Are you alright, Derek?”

Derek doesn’t reply. Because he has to do something, he pours more vinegar on the washcloth and keeps rubbing, over his torso, where he can reach on his back, the jut of his hipbones and his thighs where he has ugly purple bruises forming.

“Laura didn’t mean it, you know. She’s just - disappointed, I think. She thought this was gonna be a good thing for you.” She pauses. “I did too.” She raps her knuckles gently on the doorframe. “Night, Derek.”

He thinks, _this is so much worse than the anger_ , and waits until her door is shut behind her to strip and climb into the shower.

 

Derek spends the weekend in his room. He sleeps like the dead that night, but wakes when Laura stomps out of the house sometime in the early morning. He gets out of bed then, to put the frozens back in the freezer and grab some food. Talia knocks on his door at some point to ask him if he knows why Laura is so angry at him, if he’s alright. He lies facing the wall and mumbles an answer, his blankets pulled up to his ears. He locks his door after she leaves.

His phone buzzes on his bedside table a few times, and he lets it die - lets it die, and then plugs it back in an hour later and reads through all of the messages.

The worst of them are the ones from Stiles. Of course in the beginning it’s all _i’m here r u_ and _yo are you coming?_ but then as it gets later, and Stiles presumably gets drunk, it’s - worse. Then, it’s all _guess u dcided not 2 com then? shuld have guessd_ and _i rllyw antd u 2 b here_ and _y drek?_ and then, sometime past midnight, _imrllyfckindru nkandiwantuhere_ and _u nvr rlly likrd me did u? im am isiot_

He deletes the messages, ignores all the others, and rolls back over in bed.

 

Derek is out of the house Monday morning before his sisters have even woken up. He drives to the nearest Walgreens to buy some cheap-ass makeup to cover the bruises as best he can, and then he sits in his car in the school parking lot, stretched out across the backseat with his sketchbook open in his lap. He stares at the pages for a while, filled with drawing after drawing of Stiles, the crinkle in his nose when he laughs, his eyes in about a million different lightings, a startlingly intimate drawing of Stiles chewing on a pencil as he tries to concentrate. The others are in there too, passing sketches of Allison and Scott and Lydia and Boyd, more intense studies of Erica and Isaac and Laura and Cora like the ones of Stiles. He is laid bare in this sketchbook, unable to hide as he examines the contents.

He tries to draw Kate next, because he’s a masochist, the expression on her face as she called him a fag, but it’s too dark, undefined and wild on the page, and it hurts him to look at. As the parking lot begins to fill, he takes a picture of himself and begins to draw, and that is the worst of all, because his eyes are empty and broken in his swollen face, and his pencil can’t capture it the way that the picture can. He closes his sketchbook with finality and leaves it in the car, pulling his hood up and ducking his head as he goes.  

He sits alone in the back during art class. Lydia is glaring at him and Erica at the table, and he can feel Isaac and Boyd’s eyes on him. Ms. Yang, too, but he ignores her because she knows too much.

Mrs. Wilson looks so disappointed as he ducks into the library during lunch, but it’s not like - it was this or his car again, and he wasn’t sure he could handle seeing that sketchbook, still open to his most recent failures. He eats his apple sitting on the floor behind the shelves, wincing past the pain in his face and his back as he leans. The worst of his bruises are hiding on his torso, so he sits with his arm wrapped around his stomach and his head tipped back against the shelves, eyes closed and earphones in and alone until the bell rings.

Derek manages to make it to last period before someone asks him to put his hood down. He’s sitting in the back left corner in English, not watching Stiles not watching him from across the room, when the teacher walks in and says, “Hood down, Mr. Hale.”

Dread curdles in his stomach, but he doesn’t make a big deal of it, just pushes the hood back and stares resolutely at his desktop. He hears his classmates gasp, whispers spreading like fire across the room, and he knows the moment the teacher notices, because, “Mr. Hale, what happened to your _face_?”

His knuckles are clenched tight in his lap. “Nothing,” he mumbles, and across the room, Stiles makes a choked off noise.

“That’s not nothing, Mr. Hale. Please go down to the office immediately,” the teacher commands, and he swallows and goes, slinging his bag over his shoulder and not looking at anyone else.

The secretary takes one look at Derek’s face and sends him directly into the nurse’s office. Mrs. Johnson, the nurse, sees that it’s him coming into her room and sighs. “This again?” she says, and he just nods. She gestures for him to take a seat and he does. He’s silent as she turns his head this way and that, examining his bruises, before she sighs again. “I was hopeful you’d finished this up over the summer.”

“It’s not like I planned this,” Derek grumbles, hissing as she applies an antiseptic wipe first to his split lip and then his cheekbone.

“I know you didn’t,” she says, sounding fond if resigned. “You never do.”

Once she’s done cleaning up his face, she sends him back out to wait for the principal. Ms Yang is there, talking to the secretary, but she stops when she sees him and sits down next to him. “So,” she says as his phone buzzes in his pocket. “Are you going to tell him what’s going on this time?”

Derek clenches his jaw. “No,” he says, then adds, “there’s nothing going on.”

Ms Yang rolls her eyes at him. “That didn’t work on me last year, and it doesn’t now.”

“I haven’t told you anything, so if you think that -”

She rolls her eyes again. “Please. I tried that last year. The whole ‘teacher notices student, reports it to principal, nothing happens except teacher loses student’s trust’? I have no interest in repeating that as an experience, at least not with you.” She’s silent for a minute. “I mean, I think it’s stupid as shit that you haven’t told anyone yet, but since _technically_ I don’t have any evidence or anything, it’s all on you.”

Derek looks at his hands, folded in his lap. He mumbles, “I told Laura. Not about - this one. But. I mean. This summer, I told her about - last year.”

She places a hand on his shoulder, and when he looks up she’s smiling, small but there. “That’s really good, Derek. I’m proud of you.” He flushes and looks down, sucks his split lip into his mouth. “Speak of the devil,” Ms Yang says, standing just as Laura bursts into the office with a bang.

“Derek Michael Hale!” she yells, making the poor secretary jump. She stomps over to him but remains standing, he assumes so that she can still tower over him. “Why did I have to find out from _Stiles fucking Stilinski_ that you’re beat to shit!” She thrusts her phone at him as proof while the secretary - god help him, he should really know her name - yelps, “ _language, Ms Hale!_ ”

He swallows, not reading the message. “Stiles texted you?” is all he says.

“Yeah, dumbass, he did! He texted you too, I assume.” She flops down in the seat next to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, laying her head on his shoulder and taking his hand. He shrugs, though it makes his bruises ache. “God, I was so mad at you, and the whole time you were - god. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs again. She says, softer, “It was Kate again, wasn’t it.”

He swallows and doesn’t look at her. He pulls his phone from his pocket just so he has something in his hands. “Who else would it be?”

She’s silent for another moment, and then asks, “Are you going to tell them?”

“Of course not,” Derek says, and Laura gives an irritated huff.

“Well, that’s stupid,” she says, and he makes a face at her unthinkingly, and then hisses at the pain of it.

The door to the principal’s opens. A harassed-looking freshman hurries out, and Derek swallows. Laura squeezes his hand. “Good luck,” she says, and he nods and follows the principal inside his office.

 

The principal talks at him until the last bell rings. He’s a good man, Principal Lawrence, but Derek has no interest in talking to him about anything, so he sits and stares at his shoes until the bell rings. Lawrence sighs and stands, and Derek does, too. “You understand I’ll be emailing home about this,” he says, his hand on Derek’s shoulder as they stand at the door. Derek swallows and nods. “I’d really hoped we were done with this last year, Mr Hale. It’s unfortunate.”

Derek just nods and gets out of there as fast as he can, his head ducked down. He stops at his locker, and Jennifer is watching him and smirking from down the hall. He looks away quickly, grabs what he needs, and _runs_ out to his car.

He knew, of course, that they’d be emailing home: they always did last year, too. It’s just - last year, with the divorce happening, and his mom working so many more hours, he’d always been able to get home quick enough to delete the emails before she saw them. Maybe if he leaves right now and speeds the whole way he can make it before she can see it. Maybe. He just has to leave right now -

“Derek!” It’s Stiles, and Derek stops walking right in the middle of the parking lot. “Idiot!” Stiles yells, gesturing frantically with his hands, and Derek realizes that _he stopped in the middle of the parking lot._ He jogs out of the way over to where Stiles is standing, leaning against Derek’s car. His jeep is parked a few cars down in the row, and it’s like deja vu - Stiles leaning against his car, only this time his arms are crossed and his mouth a thin line. “Follow me in your car,” he says shortly.

“I have to -” Derek begins, but Stiles just glares at him, and he shuts up, climbing into his car and waiting for Stiles to pull out of the lot. He follows behind Stiles, his music blaring, heart racing in his chest. Every time he checks his rear view mirror the only thing he sees is his fucking sketchbook, which helps nothing, so by the time they pull up to the house his palms are sweaty and he feels sick.

The sick feeling gets worse when he realizes that this is Stiles’ house. He’s never been here before, and as he watches Stiles unlock the door and storm inside he thinks that things must be bad, if he’s here.

The inside is nice enough. It’s all warm woods and masculine touches, and maybe it’s messy, but it’s more lived in than his house, and he likes it. He follows Stiles into the living room, and watches as he paces in front of the TV. Stiles gestures at the couch without looking at him and says, “Sit.”

Derek stays standing.

Finally, Stiles stops pacing and just looks at him. Derek fidgets under his gaze, conscious of his bruises. The worst of them are on his face and his torso, and though he used makeup to try and cover the ones on his face, he doesn’t think it did very much. He has a dusty, faint bruise from Kate slapping him, and his eyes are both black, and his nose is kind of swollen, and so is his left cheekbone. He’s got dark bruises on his jaw, too. He looks like a delinquent.

“So this is where you were Friday night, then,” Stiles says, and all Derek can do is nod. Stiles just keeps watching him, and then he starts pacing again. Derek fiddles with his sleeves and stares at the floor. He jumps when Stiles asks, “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” He sounds pissed about it.

Derek shrugs. “Habit,” he mumbles.

“Habit?” Stiles repeats, sounding confused but not less angry. “What do you mean?”

Derek looks up, his eyes narrowed, reacting to Stiles’ anger with his own. “Are you kidding me? I know you don’t put stock in rumors or whatever, but were you even _there_ sophomore year? Where do you _think_ the rumor that I beat people up came from?”

Stiles gapes at him. His voice is higher and louder when he says, “This has been going on for _two years_?”

Derek kind of winces, deflating, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “I mean. Not really? This is the first time it’s happened again since last summer.”

Stiles is still gaping at him. “Who?” he asks, and Derek doesn’t answer, but it doesn’t matter, because after a moment of silence where Derek’s mouth is a tight, thin line, Stiles’ eyes widen and he says, “Holy shit, it was Kate, wasn’t it?”

Derek gives a full bodied flinch and stumbles back a step. He wraps his arms around his torso and doesn’t say anything. He feels cold, but Stiles is still talking, pacing now and not looking at him. “I get it now. I mean, not all of it, but like I think I can guess. Holy shit. You said you broke up with her, right? So it must have been because - and she didn’t like that. That you were gay, I mean. Holy shit.”

Derek wishes he could make himself smaller. He’s staring at the floor, and of course Stiles figured it out. Of course he did.

Stiles says, soft, “Derek?” and he looks up. His eyes are as soft as his voice, honey-amber in the light coming through the window. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

He told Laura about it, kind of, but he doesn’t think that’s what Stiles means. “It didn’t seem important,” he mumbles, disgusted with himself for being attracted to Stiles in this moment. It’s just - his eyes are so - and then the way he’s looking at Derek - and does he even own a shirt that fits him? Or is it a requirement that for him that they hang off him just so, exposing his collarbones. He wants to bury his face just there, in the juncture of his shoulder and his neck.

" _Didn't seem important_?" Stiles repeats, nearly a shriek, and Derek looks up from Stiles' chest. He looks - angry, and Derek doesn't understand. He blinks at him. "Derek! You got beat up! You were abused for like two years!"

Derek blinks again. He wasn't _abused_. Kate didn’t start hitting him until after they broke up, so it doesn't count.

" _Derek_!" Stiles yells, when he just keeps staring in confusion. He looks like he wants to grab Derek by the shoulders and shake him bodily. "Of course it's important! You were hurt! That makes it important!"

He doesn't understand. He cleaned himself up well enough; even the nurse today was just a formality.

Stiles scrubs his hands through his hair and pulls. He's still just staring at Derek like he's about to go out of his mind, and Derek wants to smooth the expression off his face.

"Okay," Stiles says, like he's regrouping. The way he's looking at Derek is - something else. "Derek. It's important because _you're_ important. There are people out there who care about you. Who would care that some psycho bitch has been beating you up for like two years. You _matter_ , Derek. Dammit!" He's suddenly worked up again, pacing, and Derek jumps when he yells. He recognizes the look now; not something else, but like he matters. "You're important to _me_ , Derek. You matter to me! _I_ care about you! And if you could just get that through your thick goddamn skull, then maybe we could get somewhere!"

Derek doesn't think. He kind of hurts with warmth from what Stiles is saying, and he can feel that he's blushing to hell, and Stiles still has that expression on his face that Derek wants to kiss away, so he just - does.

Kiss him, he means.

Surging forward, eyes closed, hands cupping jaw, kissing him. There’s a moment of _shit_ because of his split lip, and then it’s _holy_ _shit_ because he’s _kissing_ _Stiles_. It’s better than he imagined; his lips are soft but chapped, and his face feels firm and soft and perfect under Derek’s hands. That’s what it is, actually. For a minute, it’s perfect.

And then Derek’s phone starts to ring and when he opens his eyes, he realizes that Stiles hasn’t responded at all, hasn’t moved at all, is standing with his hands at his side and his eyes wide open, and Derek drops his hands so fast, scrambling away. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and sees that it’s Talia calling him, and that he has about a thousand texts on his phone, all from Cora and Laura and saying things like _mom_ _is_ _pissed_ and _where_ _are_ _you_. He realizes that he was supposed to be home like an hour ago, and Talia must have gotten the email. Which means she’s waiting at home to probably yell at him.

And Stiles is still just staring at him, eyes wide, mouth open, the face someone would make if they’d just gotten face-mauled by someone they had no interest in, and Derek has misread all the signs and messed everything up and _shit_.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, too fast, stumbling farther away. He doesn’t answer the call, but he gestures at his phone like he needs to. “I didn’t mean - I’m sorry. I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.” And then he runs out of Stiles’ living room, out the front door, and to the driveway where a man - Stiles’ father, the fucking _sheriff_ because of course - is getting out of his car. He nods at him, and Stiles is calling at him from the porch, but his phone is still ringing and he feels sick again, so he gets in his car and goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr!](http://allyaisbae.tumblr.com)
> 
> Comments are everything, you guys are the greatest!
> 
> New chapter in a weekish! All will be well, don't worry!


	2. we should take a day to break away from all the pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He says, “Let’s talk,” and takes Derek’s elbow before he can protest. He drags them into an empty classroom, doesn’t turn the lights on. Derek tucks his hands into nervous fists and stuffs them in his pockets.  
> “Look,” Isaac says, “I don’t know what happened with you and Stilinski last night - I have my guesses, because come on, but he didn’t tell me anything - but you need to fix it.”  
> Derek stares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. It's been a bit longer than a week. I apologize. Real life kinda shit on me for a while - school and depression and things - but I'm back now! Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait!
> 
> I don't think there's anything really triggering here that wasn't trigger warned last chapter. Victim blaming and some referenced homophobia is about it I think.
> 
> Chapter title from Migraine by Twenty One Pilots, just to bring things full circle. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Talia is waiting for him when he crashes through the door. He’s out of breath, chest heaving, and he just collapses against it once he’s inside, tipping his head back. Derek is so busy remembering how Stiles sounded screaming after him as he left, and the look on his face when Derek opened his eyes, and the feel of his face under Derek’s hands and _oh fuck he kissed Stiles Stilinski_ \- that he almost misses the way Talia’s face melts from thunderous rage right into an utterly cracked open expression at the sight of him. Almost.

“Derek,” she says. So softly. Like he’s a scared animal or something. “What happened to your _face_?”

Still heaving, Derek says dumbly, “The school said they’d email you.”

She lifts her hand like she wants to touch him, but instead she brings it up to cover her mouth. Her eyes look damp. “Derek,” she chokes. “Who _did_ this to you?”

Maybe she’s the scared animal this time. He shakes his head, wrapping his arms around his torso. “I didn’t get their names this time.”

If possible, her eyes grow wider. " _This time_?”

Derek winces. Shit. He shifts uncomfortably, scratches the back of his head. “Um. Yeah.”

“How long has this been going on?” she says, caught in an in-between of this woman who cries at the sight of his face purple and swollen, and the one she’s been since the divorce, stalwart, firm, clipped. This is a Talia he doesn’t know how to deal with, the one he’s been avoiding bringing to the surface. The only other time he’s seen her like this was when he was twelve and her father died. Peter fell apart, leaving her to make all the arrangements necessary as she tried not to do the same. He’d never wanted to see this Talia again.

Swallowing, stalling, he says, “It’s been almost a year since the last time, before today.”

It’s not good enough for Talia, who just repeats, “How long.”

He looks down, bracing, tracing the patterns in the tiles with his eyes. “End of freshman year,” he says, and looks up in time to see her face crumple. She turns away from him, her hand over her mouth, torso twisted away. He swallows, doesn't want to look at her, doesn't want to see this reaction.

She turns back to him, eyes wet, and Derek flinches away from the expression on her face. She opens her mouth, but her words get blocked out as Laura comes thundering down the stairs, calling Derek's name with Cora right behind her. Cora freezes in the hallway, catching sight of his face, but Laura skids to a stop just behind Talia, still yelling, waving her phone in the air.

“Derek! Why is Stiles texting me to tell you to pick up your phone! What did you do?” Laura thrusts the phone at him, but he pushes it back towards her, having no desire to read the texts. Stubborn, she keeps it pushed at him, and he can either read the texts or watch Talia’s face, so he reads the texts.

_> laura tell derek to pick up his goddamn phone i was an idiot i need to talk to him_

_> laura_

_> LAURA ITS URGENT OK MAKE HIM PICK UP HIS PHONE I THINK I FUCKED UP_

He swallows and pushes it back at her, crossing his arms across his chest. He doesn’t say anything, and Laura makes a frustrated noise. “So, what happened? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t owe it to you to tell you,” Derek says, and watches hurt flash across Laura’s face before she goes steely.

“I’m not asking you to tell me because you _owe_ me,” she says, leaning closer, lip curled. “I’m asking you to tell me because I _care_ about you, you goddamn idiot!”

Quietly, Talia says, “Why didn’t you tell me?” but Derek is already yelling back, ignoring her.

“I don’t want to tell you! You can’t protect me all the time, Laura, it’s not your _job_!”

“But I could help this time! I won’t let this be another Kate just because of your fucking pride!”

And now Derek is the one who flinches, full bodied, crossing his arms tighter across himself. Laura softens immediately, leaning around Talia, reaching out to him.

“Derek,” Laura says, soft. “I’m just trying to -”

“ _Why_ ,” Talia shouts, so loudly and so harshly that Derek jumps, looking at her, “ _didn’t you tell me?_ ”

He doesn’t - he looks away, wanting to close his eyes or disappear, knowing immediately what she means. Laura, next to him now, places a gentle hand on his elbow, but he doesn’t look at her. He has to answer, and he knows it, but he just - needs a minute.

Swallowing, his voice very soft, Derek says, “The first time, I thought it was the going to be the only time. And - I knew why it happened, and I didn’t want to explain that.”

“And after that?” Talia’s voice is stiff.

“After that.” Derek stops, clenches his fists, starts again. “You and dad were fighting so much, and I - I don’t know. I didn’t want you to worry about me. And it wasn’t like it was all the time - only every couple of weeks. I thought it would stop.”

“And when it didn’t?”

Derek chances a look at her. Her eyes are wet, but her face is steely, unyielding. She’s getting her answers whether they hurt her or not, and he knows that they’re going to, they’re going to, and this is what he’s been avoiding all this time.

He looks away, at the floor. He forces his voice lifeless, face blank. Emotionless. Says, “When it didn’t, I’d just made Dad leave and I was already in the habit of hiding it.” Hiding it, fighting with Talia so she thought he was mad at her about the divorce, buying makeup, hood up, make himself smaller. Make himself disappear. “I don’t know. I didn’t know how to make it stop.” And at the time, there was a certain relief in it; Laura and Cora and Talia would never blame him for making Dad leave, never punish him, but here was something, some hurt for what he did to his family, how he tore them apart.

“ _Derek_ ,” Cora cries, rushing forward and surprising him when she crashes into him, her full weight knocking him backward into the door. He catches her automatically, arms wrapping around her as she cries into his neck. Somehow, through all of this, she’s the one whispering, “it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay now.”

He can’t remember the last time she hugged him. Hesitantly, he places a hand on the back of her head, and holds her there. Her grip on him squeezes his bruises unpleasantly, but he’s not about to let her go.

After a while, the startled feeling of her touch fades and Derek remembers to look up. Laura has turned away from him, bracing herself against the counter. Her shoulders are shaking, but she shrinks away when he reaches out to her. Talia is standing just a few paces away now, and she looks stricken but not tearful, looking at Derek like she’s never seen him before. When he meets her eyes, she steps forward and places her hand on his forearm, her touch gentle. “Derek,” she says firmly. “What happened with your father was not your fault. You did not make him leave, and even if you did, you didn’t deserve to be _abused_ for it all that time.”

He blinks at her, and watches the tears well up in her eyes. She looks determined not to cry though, because she’s not done and despite all this, she’s still Talia Hale. She’s going to finish what she started. She clears her throat, looks away long enough to place her hand on Laura’s back. “Even if you did make your father leave, I’d rather he be gone than have him here and tearing you apart because of who you are.”

He blinks at her again, and feels tears spilling down his cheeks, burning the cuts on his face. She smiles gently at him, kisses the top of Cora’s head, and cups his cheek in her hand. “I love you,” she says, and he chokes on a sob. “I’m sorry for not noticing all this time. I’ve - I failed you, and I’m so sorry,” her voice breaks and he’s shaking his head, but she’s still going. “We’re going to work through this, okay? We’ll get this thing worked out.” She glances at Laura, still crying against the counter, and Cora, whose tears are subsiding but whose grip on Derek is not loosening. “Another time though. I think everyone has had enough for tonight.” She kisses the top of his head and turns to Laura, whispering to her and guiding her from the room, leaving Cora and Derek crying against the door. Derek is startled to find that it feels like a release, not like he’s drowning in it for once. He tightens his hold on her, and closes his eyes.

 

Later, he’s lying on his bed with Cora falling asleep against his shoulder. She hasn’t said much, but she’s been crying almost non-stop and refuses to let Derek out of her sight. He waits for her breathing to even out before he slips out from under her head, out of his room. He sees Laura closing the door to her room, heading inside, and goes past her to Talia's room. The light is on and the door is open, barely, and through the crack he can see her sitting on the very edge of the bed, her head in her hands, a study in stillness. He watches her for a moment, itching for his sketchbook or someone better suited to dealing with this, and then her shoulders hitch, and there is no one else, so he pushes the door open.

She looks up when he steps inside, and her face is dry but cracked at the edges. She pastes a smile on for him, watching him as he comes and sits in one of the armchairs across from her. She’s watching and he’s watching her, and it feels strange because for once he doesn’t try to hide from her.

It occurs to him after a while that she’s waiting for him to speak, but it takes him a while still after that to find his words. He’s never been good at them, but he needs to make this right.

“You didn’t fail me,” he says finally, sees her open her mouth to argue, and keeps going. “You didn’t fail me, because I didn’t _want_ you to notice. I was hiding from you. I was doing everything I could to make sure you didn’t notice, and you didn’t fail me.”

"It's my job to notice anyway," Talia argues, and something sparks inside, heat like anger in his stomach.

"No," he snaps, and Talia does a double-take at him in surprise. "You don't _get it._ If I wasn't actively avoiding you, then I was fighting you, making you think I blamed you for the divorce, for everything with dad. I made you scared to talk to me. On _purpose_. And as if that wasn't bad enough," Derek says, in a voice that's rising, tinged slightly with desperation, "then if I wasn't doing _that_ , then I was _hiding_. I was never in the house or if I was I was in my room. I made sure to get perfect grades so you wouldn't have a reason to notice me. Hell, I even was mediocre in art class so that there wasn't any special notifications from the teacher about how _wonderful_ I was. I deleted all the emails the school sent you about my bruises. I bought an entire wardrobe of long sleeves and hoodies. I invested in _make up_. You didn't notice because I _made sure_ you didn't." He's panting now, yelling, and he gets a handle on the ends of his desperation and yanks it in, makes his voice lower, harsher instead of louder and honest. "You did not fail me. This is all my doing."

For a moment Talia just stares at him, not blinking, watching Derek’s chest heave as he catches his breath. Then, when the heaving of his breath turns closer to hitching, she gets down from the bed and kneels on the floor in front of him. He blinks at her, his eyes feeling wet and his face burning and hot, and watches as she reaches out and takes his hand from on his thigh. “Come here,” she says, soft, and tugs gently. He goes mostly without thinking until he’s kneeling across from her. They look at each other.

Then Derek makes a needy sound and she pulls him into her arms, and it’s warm and good and familiar and everything he’s been missing. “I’m noticing now,” Talia says against the top of his head as he sobs onto her shoulder. “I’m noticing now, and I’m sorry.”

 

The ride to school the next morning is quiet. Cora’s indie music plays softly on the radio, and it’s nice but he misses Laura. She very pointedly got in the Camaro while Cora and Derek were still sleepily eating cereal at the table. She’s pissed at him then, probably for not telling her and probably for blaming himself. It hurts, but - Cora is singing along softly next to him and Talia kissed the top of his head before she walked out the door this morning, and that’s not nothing.

  
Derek hesitates getting out of the car. The sketchbook is out of the backseat, thank god, but he can see the charcoal smudges on the corduroy seats. Remembers the feel of it in his hands.

Cora squeezes his knee, pulling him back. She smiles at him, takes his keys, and climbs out of the car. He follows her.

People stare. His shirt has no hood, and he misses it, feels the blush pinking his cheeks and his ears, making the bruises throb. It’s helpful that he’s not walking in alone, but Cora parts with him soon enough for her locker, smiling reassurance at him before she goes. He keeps his head down at his locker.

Isaac’s appearance startles him enough that he bangs his head against the shelf inside. He mutters a swear and pulls himself out of the depths of his locker. Isaac looks sympathetic and determined. He says, “Let’s talk,” and takes Derek’s elbow before he can protest. He drags them into an empty classroom, doesn’t turn the lights on. Derek tucks his hands into nervous fists and stuffs them in his pockets.

“Look,” Isaac says, “I don’t know what happened with you and Stilinski last night - I have my guesses, because come on, but he didn’t tell me anything - but you need to fix it.”

Derek stares. There’s two separate dialogues running in his head, one that’s marveling at the weirdness of this, of him and Isaac, because they haven’t had this stark honesty since the beginning of freshman year, and Isaac has lost the nervousness and the huntedness he carried back then - and the other one that’s stuck on _you and Stilinski last night._ He says, “What?”

Isaac huffs, rocks his weight. “He came to Scott’s freaking out and saying _I fucked up_ over and over again. He told Scott what happened after I went home, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that something happened between you two, especially since I saw you talk in the parking lot yesterday.”

Derek says, “Oh.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, _oh_. So talk to him. The both of you look a little worse for wear, and I sincerely doubt that Stilinski messed up as much as he thinks he did. So, _fix_ _it_.”

In the hallway, the five minute bell rings. Isaac looks up at the ceiling and sighs. Derek says, “Okay, I’ll fix it,” and he doesn’t sound as sure as he’d like but - he’s going to try. Also, it sounded like Isaac wasn’t just coming to him just on behalf of Stiles, like maybe he cared about Derek too, which is enough of a surprise that he’ll do whatever he asks.

Isaac smiles. “Okay. Good. Now get to class, dumbass.”

 

He decides he’s gonna talk to Stiles at lunch. In study hall, he pulls out his phone and texts Laura.

_ <i’m sorry i didn’t tell you everything. i didn’t know how. _

_ <i’m talking to stiles at lunch. i’m trying to fix things. to be better. _

_ <i’m sorry. _

Then he puts his phone down and breathes through his nerves, fiddling with his headphones and letting _Deja Entendu_ give him courage. Some of the songs are rougher than others to listen to (he almost cries listening to _Sic Transit Gloria_ but it passes), but when the bell rings, he’s ready.

Derek feels awkward going into the lunchroom. Lydia is glaring at him as he approaches their table, and he swallows but keeps walking. Isaac looks pleased and Erica is just staring, but he taps Stiles on the shoulder and ignores everyone. Stiles eyes are wide and he looks sad, but Derek just says, quiet, “Can we talk?”

For a moment, Stiles just stares, seeming stunned, and Derek fidgets. Then something clicks behind his eyes and he’s scrambling to his feet, shoving things in bag, saying, “of course of course, just let me - shit, Scott, that’s my - whatever just get it back to me lat- okay, I’m ready.”

Derek nods and turns away to hide his fond smile. He leads them out to the parking lot and then leans against his car, collecting his thoughts. Stiles doesn’t join him, instead stands across from him and picks at the strap of his bag. Eventually, Derek says, “I’m sorry. About yesterday.”

Stiles eyes get wider. Quickly, he says, “Noooo, that was me, I’m really -”

Derek puts up a hand to stop him. He looks down at his feet. “No, it wasn’t. It was me. I should have - not just yesterday. I should have told you about Kate on Friday, or - sooner than you found out. And then, yesterday, I - kissed you. Sorry about that. And then I - ran. So, sorry.”

He’s been scuffing the toe of his boot against the pavement, but when he’s done talking he looks up from under his lashes. Stiles is gaping, mouth open like a fish, and he looks wildly incredulous. He gives a flail and practically screeches, “ _Did you just apologize for kissing me?”_

Derek flinches a little. “...yes?”

“Well, don’t.” Stiles face has settled a little, his eyes sincere, mouth firm.

His brows crease. “You didn’t - respond at all. I thought -”

“ _Well, don’t.”_ He rubs a hand across his face, and when he looks again his cheeks are a little pink. “You caught me by surprise, is all.”

Derek can feel his heart in his throat. His butt is slipping from the hood of his car. “So you - enjoyed it?”

Stiles blushes deeper. “ _Yes._ Jesus. You just - it came out of nowhere. I didn’t think you felt that way about me.”

It’s Derek’s turn to gape. “ _You_ didn’t think _I_ felt that way about _you?”_ Stiles shakes his head. The flush has spread to his whole face, down his throat and past the collar of his shirt. Derek is speechless for a long moment, then he sputters, “Stiles, I’ve had a crush on you since _sophomore year_.”

Stiles stares. “Really?” he squeaks.

Derek swallows. He’s pink now, too; he can feel the heat of it in his cheeks and his ears, the back of his neck. “Really.”

Stiles face breaks out in a blinding grin, and Derek is blown away by it. “Well, that changes things.” He’s bouncing on his toes, practically vibrating with it. He feels like the sun, his eyes so bright. “Does that mean I could kiss you?”

Derek slides right off the hood of his car. He doesn’t quite land on his ass, catching himself, but it’s a near thing.

Stiles is laughing at him, but as Derek keeps staring at him his face changes to something softer, with heat.

Swallowing, Derek says, “I think that would be okay. The kissing. I would be okay with that.”

Stiles smiles at him again, dropping his bag and coming closer. Softly, he says, “Okay,” and steps right between Derek’s legs. He keeps eye contact with Derek as he leans in and brushes his lips lightly across Derek’s. Derek’s eyes flutter, and then Stiles is pulling his face away a little. Even quieter, he says, “Okay?” and Derek nods. He places his hands on either side of Derek’s hips and kisses him again, firmer this time.

It doesn’t feel like anything is being taken from him. For all that it’s firmer this time, it’s still soft, and it feels entirely in Derek’s control; despite Stiles bracketing him, he could break away if he needed to. Instead, he sighs a little and opens his mouths, places his hands on Stiles hips. Stiles tongue slips into his mouth, but it’s gentle, a quiet exploration. Something warm surges up inside him, and his smile breaks the kiss.

He ducks his head as he begins laughing, buries his face in the place where Stiles’ shoulder meets his throat. “I’m sorry,” Derek says, but Stiles just wraps his arms around him. Derek feels Stiles’ smile against his cheek. Quietly, Derek says, “I feel very happy,” and Stiles laughs and kisses him again. Derek decides he likes this more than anything, tasting Stiles’ laughter in his mouth and feeling his arms around him.

The bell rings, startling them apart, and Stiles begins to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Derek smiles and takes his hand. “We’ve got more to talk about, you know,” Stiles says casually as he picks his bag up, and Derek nods, his smile dropping. “Not - like that. Just. To talk.”

“Okay,” Derek says softly. He takes a deep breath and reminds himself not to worry. The worst thing Kate could have done to him she’s already done. He’s got his mom and his sisters now, Erica and probably Isaac, and Stiles now too. He’ll be fine.

“Okay,” he repeats. He gives Stiles a smile just for him and squeezes his hand as they step through the door. They’ll be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT WAS SO SAPPY I'M SORRY i just felt like my boys deserved the happy. Also, I really like Talia? Some people have commented in the past about how bitchy she is, and - in previous chapters she kind of was. But idk, her husband left her a year ago and her son just suddenly decided to hate her, I don't think she really knew how to deal. She's gonna be better now.
> 
> That's all for now, folks! I might eventually write a couple additional little shorts (bc obviously Derek still has issues and also I'm quite fond of this 'verse), but I think this wraps up everything important! If you disagree let me know in the comments and I will comment back!
> 
> Also, [Sic Transit Gloria](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0G_ZOHFyRa4). It's such a Derek/Kate song I am cry. (the [lyrics](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/brandnew/sictransitgloriagloryfades.html) seriously how do I _live_ )
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this universe of mine. I enjoyed writing it!
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr.](http://www.allyaisbae.tumblr.com)


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